


Stay silent and let it drown you

by JustMeWriting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anger, Child Abuse, Gen, Guilt, Physical Abuse, Toxic Relationship, Verbal Abuse, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29271255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustMeWriting/pseuds/JustMeWriting
Summary: She’s so angry.She’s so angry and it’s an ugly feeling and it makes her feel ugly but she can’t stop. She wants to scream, stomps her feet on the floor like a child and destroy her mom’s china vase. But she can’t.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson, Pansy Parkinson & Pansy Parkinson’s mother
Kudos: 2





	Stay silent and let it drown you

**Author's Note:**

> Swept that in like 10 minutes so it’s a vent fic, sorry. No Draco/Pansy technically but if you wanna read it that way you do you
> 
> TW in the tags but also : mention of wanting to become a parent (mother), running away, being punished, scars because of physical violence from a parent, guilt tripping from a parent, parental neglect, choking (metaphor),

She’s so angry.

She’s so angry and it’s an ugly feeling and it makes  _her_ feel ugly but she can’t _stop_. She wants to scream, stomps her feet on the floor like a child and destroy her mom’s china vase. But she can’t. 

She can’t be angry at the war, because her parents keep promising her they’re on the winning side. She can’t be angry at the rules she has to follow, because they’ve always been here, and they’re so much older than she is. She can’t be angry when Draco comes to her and put his head on her shoulder silently, because they don’t talk about the tears they both shed. 

She’s not allowed to be angry at her reflection, at the cold in her eyes, at the dark of her hair so close to her mother’s. She can’t destroy the China and stomp her feet and scream, because it’s not  _proper_ and she hates _having to be_ _ proper_. 

Pansy wishes she was allowed to be anything other than shallow and mean. She dreams sometimes, of a place where she can let her history books anywhere around her, where she can play whatever melody she wants to on the violin, and where she lets her hair curl naturally. But even if she could have all of that, she isn’t sure she would know how to live in it. She doesn’t know if her voice can be soft instead of sharp, doesn’t know if her hands can hold in a gentle way, doesn’t know if her eyes could ever show what she really feel. 

Draco sees the most of it. He knows the books she read, even if he doesn’t know the ones she writes. He knows she loves him even if her eyes are cold, just like she knows he loves her even if he’s never said it. He knows why she cut her hair short when she was nine and her mother felt like a choking spell all around her. He understand the things they don’t talk about. He doesn’t know everything, and she doesn’t know everything about him, either. They know enough. 

She knows he can talk for hours on hand of the people around him -Potter, especially, Potter. She knows he’s in a difficult position, and she’s perfectly aware of what his parents stand for and what they do. Her parents are the same, after all. She knows how he blows the hair out of his face when he works, the way he holds himself in public, the coldness of his hands. She knows him. She knows enough that she wishes she could be angry for him, too. 

She hopes she’ll be a mother, one day. To a little girl, but it’s okay too if it’s a boy. To share her life with another, to teach them all the things her parents forbad. Have someone she can watch grow, warn them of the mistakes she did, follow them through their life as long as she can. 

It’s just a dream, like the little house with yellow walls and the History Books with her name on the front cover. She dreams a lot, because she doesn’t have much else. 

She hopes the anger will die down, at some point. It twists her inside and hurts her hands and she’s _so_ _ ugly_ when she’s angry. She’s everything she hates when she shouts, so she keeps her voice calm and even. She digs her nails in her palms so they don’t reach for her wand and roots her feet in the floor so she doesn’t bulge. 

They never see the tremble of her fists. They never hear the lump in her throat and they don’t, ever, see the shame that flows through her alongside the rage. 

Her mom has always been angry. Except when the Dark Lord came back, maybe. She’s always been harsh words and sharp nails, her anger seeping through the walls to Pansy’s bedroom from the other side of the house. She grips her daughter’s wrist and there’s little scars on them, so Pansy wears bracelets to cover them up. Her words always hurt more than her hands, though. Always. She knows where to hit, knows the insidious ways to reproach everything, all the time. She knows how to make Pansy feel guilty when her legs hurt or when the flower pot is a little too to the left on the table. She shouts and her father stays silent and looks disapprovingly at Pansy. 

Sometimes she dreams of running away, like they wouldn’t find her and punish her. 

So she grits her teeth through the days and casts Silent Charms so she can scream until she cries. 


End file.
